Waken Up, Fall Asleep
by Child of Mars
Summary: Some days, Emma thinks she sees a little more in Gold than the Dark magician everyone once feared. She sees a father, a father who spent long hours spinning wool to feed his son, dressed in homespun rags and clutching to his walking stick for dear life as he stood firm against whatever trials life threw at him, wishing only to protect and care for his boy. Some days, Emma knows it.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: The image above belongs to a fanmade facebook page for Baelfire. The story below is meant to be a bit of lovely fluff and also family angst, showing how Rumple's fitting into his family. Wether he wants to or not. :)**

**ALSO: I'm not sure if I'm personally happy with this one, so please forgive any mistakes or discrepancies or whatever. It is my first time writing from Emma's point of view and I hope I got her right...so hard to write her without saying, "What the h***!" Lol. Enjoy!**

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**Waken Up, Fall Asleep.**

Emma never could get used to wearing dresses like her mother did. Thankfully, they weren't hooped or ridiculously wide and heavy, with several thousand layers of petticoats and bloomers and whatnot. They were actually pleasant and almost practical, hanging limp yet with enough stretch room for her to vault over a fence or ride a horse if she chose to.

The colors were beautiful and she soon remembered why pink looked so good on her. Neal thought so too. Of course, Neal didn't really mind if she went around in breeches with a long sleeved shirt, looking like a stable boy or farmand. Neal was notably relaxed where pretty much all things were concerned.

Now, however, it was early morning. She'd tied an apron on and wore what Regina sniffingly called a 'peasant's skirt' as she cooked breakfast for her family. It was supposed to be Neal's turn in the kitchen, but she hadn't been able to drag his bottom out of bed and, considering that it was his birthday as well, she decided to let it pass for once.

Which didn't mean she wasn't going to take a long broom handle and slowly push him over the edge of the mattress until he fell to the floor with a heavy thump if he did't get up before noon. The family was coming over for lunch. And by the family she meant that human storm of interrelated, vastly emotional, intensely complex people who couldn't stop arguing and fighting if they were sealed in a cave without oxygen and left to die.

Certainly, Rumplestiltskin's fireballs would hit Hook before suffocation did, and maybe Regina's reformation would go out the window as the Imp made a jab about her mother. Snow would scream for everyone to stop fighting while David tried to get her to stop screaming and Emma, being the saviour, would rescue them all by drilling a hole through the rock wall with her constant head-banging. Neal would probably sleep through the whole thing.

That unpleasant, if exagerated, image seemed far too real as Emma heard a voice echoe through the castle, announcing the arrival of guests. "Rumplestiltskin and Lady Belle." The former Dark One needed no title.

Emma shook her head with a sigh. They were way too early. Just remembering to pull her apron off and toss it a little too closely to the fire, she went out to the parlor, pulling down the sleeves of her blouse.

As she came in, she heard Belle's ever-free laughter. The woman who had tamed the Dark One was trying to lower herself to a sofa, heavy with her seven-month-old child. A little girl, Rumplestiltskin told them. He was adamant that she would look just like Belle, with chestnut curls and big blue eyes. Belle, however, said it would have Rumple's hair, not as rich in color as Belle's, but far, far softer. A pink, chubby little baby for the Charmings to coo over and Neal to practice his parenting skills on whenever her family could steal it from under the Dark One's nose. A baby that, oddly enough, would be Emma's sister in law.

Yeah, Emma was fine with that.

Rumplestiltskin clutched his cane tightly with one hand, using it to half support himself as he tried to help Belle get comfortable, leaning over dangerously as she finally settled into the cushions with a creak. He pushed a large pillow behind her back for support, asking her in the meantime a million questions, "is that alright? Is that comfortable? Would you like anything? How do you feel?"

Belle took it extremely well. She told him to stop fussing. When that proved futile, she just laughed. In the same position, Emma thought, she would be biting off heads. Belle looked up and, seeing her, smiled. Rather than call her 'step-mother-in-law' or even 'mom', which would be weird, Emma settled on calling her Belle.

Back when she first knew Gold's girlfriend in Storybrooke, she had to admit she didn't admire her. She was confused by her devotion to the man and, at the same time, pitied her for it. She knew what it was like to be used and ruined by your boyfriend…even if he did come back ten years later, penitent and willing to sacrifice everything to sustain what little remained of your heart.

In fact, Emma even kept tabs on Belle at first. But, except for the occasional danger from Rumplestiltskin's enemies, it didn't seem like the little librarian suffered from the relationship at all, except the damage her own heart inflicted on her when Rumplestiltskin toyed with words and people, as she so aptly put it.

Apart from the whole Impish thing and the dark magic and the scales, it really was like Beauty and the Beast. Emma had never exactly loved that fairytale as some children did, preferring more explosive women-heroes like Mulan or Ariel or Jasmine…but to be fair, a part of her had always admired Disney-Belle.

And now a part of her would always admire the Belle who sat before her, heavily pregnant with the child of the 'Beast', being fawned over by said Beast and laughing at it, thoroughly enjoying it, _loving_ it even.

No one knew exactly how terrible and hard their road had been together, but anyone with half an eye could guess. And Emma knew in every inch of her gut that Belle deserved this happy ending. It was Rumplestiltskin who didn't deserve _her_.

And yet, she thought, glancing at the man as he fondled his wife's curls, his brown eyes intense on her swollen stomach where his precious child rested…after all she'd seen of Rumplestiltskin, the discovery of how long and how hard he'd loved his son and True Love and even come to love his grandson, after she'd seen him painfully pull himself out of that dark pit of his soul and baptize it with fire and courage, blood and tears, to save the ones he loved and, through this, save himself…maybe the price wasn't as easy to pay as everyone presumed when they saw the two, the gorgeous young girl and the tired, crippled man, striding arm in arm together, laughing and smiling in the sunlight.

Belle interrupted Emma's long, _long_ thoughts. "I'm sorry, Emma…I know we're early. It's just that…" she stroked her baby bump, "Auriel woke me up early and," she laughed, "There goes any chance of sleep. I know we're invited for lunch but Bae did say drop by any time."

At those words, Rumplestiltskin took a sudden, deep breath, like a man stirred from his own thoughts. He glanced around the room and through the doorways until his darting brown eyes finally came to rest on Emma's face. "Speaking of Bae, where is he?"

Emma rolled her eyes heavenwards without meaning to. Neal's habits had been pardonable when they were a young couple on the road, but now they were becoming a regular problem. "Still in bed."

She could have sworn she saw the corner of Rumplestiltskin's mouth curl up ever so slightly in that clever smile of his. She frowned, watching him suspiciously.

Belle continued, "and Henry? Is he an early riser?"

Emma looked away from the strange challenge in Rumplestiltskin's eyes. "Yes, thank Regina. One of the good things that came from her upbringing." One of many good things, actually, although it was sometimes hard to admit it, even to herself. She suddenly noticed the thick leather bag that Rumplestiltskin had dropped onto the pillows under Belle's left arm. "Lemme guess…another book."

There was one characteristic Henry shared with Belle, completely independent of practically everyone else. An intense love of books. Which was yet another odd thing, considering they were pretty much the least related in the family. But it was a point Henry and his grandmother could bond over, and for that, Emma was grateful. She was grateful that her son had a huge, loving, albeit insane family, when she'd had practically no one for the first twenty years of her life.

Belle pulled out a book with a dull, blue cover embossed with gold lettering. It was an inch thick at the binder and, although the pages were yellowed, they were neat and clean; either they weren't read very often or they were very well cared for. And if Emma knew anything about her step-mother-in-law, it was the latter. Belle opened the book and began leafing gracefully through the pages.

After a second, she stopped and drew her finger down an illustration that was bright with color. "It's a beautiful story, really. It's called the Happy Prince and it shows how a true prince should rule…with kindness and generosity and self-sacrifice. The prince spends his whole life never thinking of others, never even knowing! Then he's turned into a great big golden statue that stands guard over the town and he begins to see all the misery he's left behind. There's this little bird, a sparrow…"

Emma grinned in spite of herself, holding her hands out to stem the tide of words. Was it her imagination, or did Rumplestiltskin smile again? "I trust you," she laughed, her face the picture of mock concern, "I'll go out and get him."

Belle smiled, not hurt in the least by what she knew was a clumsy retreat. She suddenly reached behind and snatched Rumplestiltskin's sleeve, pushing him forward. "And you," she told her astonished husband, "go with her."

Rumplestiltskin had let his adorable wife chat away with the host, a classic technique among people who couldn't trust themselves to speak nicely, or at least, didn't want to bother when they could just stare at the bump where their baby was waiting. Now, however, he started to protest, "But Belle…"

"Is not going to be smothered by you," Belle scolded him, unsoftened by his devotion and probably guessing the reason for his silence, "now go out and see your grandson. You know, the one you left me in Storybrooke and nearly got killed for? Then you send him right to be. Shouldn't be too long."

However, Emma noticed, she let him get the last word.

"With books?" Rumplestiltskin growled snarkily, "Oh, I'm sure you won't be long. I'll just walk around the castle ten or twenty times, maybe get eaten too, before you miss me. Or maybe you'll write a book about that too."

Belle wrinkled her nose playfully, pretending to look fierce as she swung her arm back with the intention to throw her book at him.

Emma couldn't help smiling as she and Rumplestiltskin went out the door, the energy and playfullness from Belle still working its magic on the Dark One like a touch of spring.

But as they actually began walking down the garden path together, an akward silence settled. Emma dutifully tried to break it. "So, Belle looks…healthy." She winced inwardly, quickly adding, "and happy."

"Well, I do hope so," Rumplestiltskin breathed, glancing back towards the parlor windows with that strange glimmer of self-doubt. Emma had seen that look on his face before, and for some reason, it never failed to surprise her. It always appeared when he was speaking to or about his loved ones.

"Glad to hear it," she replied softly, keeping her thoughts to herself.

Their walk relapsed into silence again. Emma had a feeling Rumplestiltskin was quite comfortable with it staying that way and so would she, if she didn't feel like they really should say something to each other, to at least act like they were family. After all, the guy wasn't just her father in law. He'd known her since before she was even a baby, made a great and woundrous prophecy centered on her and even had a hand in bringing her parents together. Which was all really weird and pretty creepy but, like most things these days, Emma just accepted it and moved on.

Suddenly, to her surprise, Rumplestiltskin broke the silence himself, his soft, lilting accent deepening with the memories glowing in his brown eyes. "You know," they both slowed down automatically, "if you roll Bae onto his left side and shake his arm a little, he'll wake right up. Especially if you tell him how the morning looks and how hot the sun is and warn him about all the wonderful things you'll be doing that day."

_What__**?**_ Trying to figure out how their non-existant conversation had turned into _this_, Emma gave him an incredulous look, stepping sideways slightly and putting distance between them. "Can't I just use water?"

Rumplestiltskin was still looking steadfastly at the ground, watching where he put his lame foot. A ghost of a smile pulled at his face again. "No. I tried that once. He just kept on snoring…sort of gurgling it up his nose."

Emma huffed with what was almost laughter, shaking her head. "You're kidding. You've got to be." She stopped suddenly and the older man anchored his cane before turning to look at her with a face that was stone serious. "You don't kid," Emma realized, "Is it true?"

Rumplestiltskin merely shrugged. "The magic of Morpheus is a powerful thing. Did I never tell you how Bae was almost stolen away to the land of Nod?"

Emma didn't feel like laughing at all now. "Okay. Now's the part where you tell me that _you_ wrote Henry's storybook and besides being a manipulative mastermind you're also a brilliant writer with a flair for more than just dramatics."

Rumplestiltskin raised his eyebrows; she couldn't tell wether he was offended or not. "Regretfully, no. Bae's a sleepy head for a reason. I can't tell you how many times I've had to whisper, 'waken up' in the early hours of the morning, when the dawn sky was flowing red, peeking through the window slats." He didn't tell her why it was red.

"Mom!"

Emma was saved from a reply by Henry's greeting. She turned and saw his legs dangling from a tree. The rest of him followed and her heart jumped as he fell clumsily to the leafy lawn below. A split second later, he leapt up, unharmed, and started racing towards them. Swallowing her initial panic, she waved distractedly at him, her mind still on what Rumplestiltskin had told her, that tiny glimpse into the morning ritual of a poor spinster and his boy, half an age ago.

It made her realize just how lucky that woman inside the house really was…how safe, happy, and _loved_ that fat, pink little baby was going to be. She risked a sideways glance at Rumplestiltskin and saw, to her satisfaction, that the mask had been dropped. As the grandfather watched his grandson, affection shone from that expressive face.

Emma smiled knowingly. "So, turn him on his left side?"

Rumplestiltskin waved as Henry came pounding up the walkway, and Emma realized… he was smiling too."Shake hard and 'waken up'."


	2. Chapter 2

**PART 2**

Rumplestiltskin had been pretty mellow on Bae's birthday. Today was different. It was at times like these that Emma remembered what an unreasonable pain in the you-know-what he could be. He still acted like a man who believed in his own omnipotence, doing what he wanted no matter what anyone else said. Few people could sway him in anything, unless it was Belle.

Or Neal, for that matter. Emma fervently wished her husband were here at that moment, when she was being forced to physically block the door with her body to prevent his angry, obscenity-shouting, cane-wielding father from leaving.

It was like their "don't push me" moment from Manhattan all over again, except Rumplestiltskin was doing a slightly better job at controlling himself this time. His eyeballs weren't bulging out of their sockets (_that_ had been scary) and he hadn't destroyed any coffee tables yet.

Under pressure and stressed out for a million different reasons, Emma would have been fine with letting her father-in-law go…except this was the first time anyone had seen him in eight days.

A plague had broken out in the Eastern part of the kingdom, near the old Ogre Wastelands. Aided by the frequent traffic going to and fro everywhere as the Charmings rebuilt and even improved their old realm, the disease had spread rapidly, dropping its poisonous, fatal touches everywhere. None of its victims had been spared, and they'd all been children.

Somehow, news had travelled even faster, reaching Snow through her bluebirds. Regina and Rumplestiltskin had been called in, along with any other fairy tale character that had the slightest skill in medecine or magic. Miraculously, the two black sheep of the family had survived working together for several days and managed to produce a cure.

They tested it on Henry, who'd caught the illness not long after the bluebirds came.

It was an agonizing few hours, with Emma and Regina both hovering on either side, watching anxiously for any change. Everyone else was there. Neal paced back and forth while Charming bowed his head as if in prayer. Trying to be the strong one in the room, Snow kept squeezing Emma's shoulder and then Regina's, comforting both those lost women in ways none of them could understand.

Rumplestiltskin, to everyone's initial anger, disappointment, and even grief, refused to be there. He stayed in the laboratory, making more and more of the cure even though no one knew if it worked yet, as if he'd decided it should work and therefore it would.

Emma didn't know if he was just being a distant, arrogant know-it-all without a heart, or if he just couldn't bear to stand by and watch his grandson weaken, with nothing to do but grieve like everybody else.

It was only when she rushed down to tell him that Henry's fever had broken and his arms seemed to give way, dropping glass bottles with a crash as he gripped the edge of the table and bowed his head with a shuddering breath…then she understood. He looked up with dark brown eyes that were almost painful in their blessed relief, almost brilliant in their joy, mirroring her blue ones with every emotion a good man's heart could hold.

Before she could say anything, however, he turned and frantically limped over to a huge stack of crates, latching his hands onto it. "Tell Regina to take the stack over there," he ordered Emma, pointing to another pile of crates. She could see they were full of all the antidotes he'd been compiling all through the night. "Tell her to cover the North, near her castle. Have it distributed."

"Where are you going?" Emma asked, stepping forward. She hated it when Rumplestiltskin did what she knew he was about to do: embark on some great, complex plan of his own without telling anybody a single detail.

His head was turned away from her and she barely caught his muttered words, "there are children dying."

He disappeared in a cloud of purple.

That had been a week ago. The bluebirds kept carrying news, and the news kept getting better. Regina did her work well, and the disease stopped in the North. It never even reached the South, while the West and East were almost completely clean.

She wasn't sure where Rumplestiltskin had gone, but it was clear he'd been distributing the antidote far and wide, from the cities and townships to the most obscure villages and hovels.

Belle was frantic with worry, so much so that Snow had gone to stay with her. Neal pretended not to care, stating loudly that that stubborn old goat deserved what he got if he wanted to go off and never be heard from again. But he pestered Snow until all her bluebirds were searching far and wide for the Dark One. They brought in scattered sightings that were sometimes confused. He was in Denaria, he was in Felladon, he was in Booran, and all in the same day. That was the trouble with tracking a teleporting magician.

And now, unexpectedly, he'd turned up at Emma's castle. Looking horrible.

His eyes were rimmed with a shocking, sore looking red yet shadowed by deep, dark circles. His shoulders sagged and gravity seemed to be constantly pulling him towards the wall to lean on it. Rumplestiltskin had always been a small, thin man…now he looked even skinnier, almost frail.

But he still sneered sharp, bitter words and touted that cane around as if the whole world owed him rent.

"Gold," Emma had never, ever gotten used to calling him 'Rumplestiltskin' to his face, "the plague's stopped, we're just wiping out the last cases. We have medics…physicians, leeches or whatever…everywhere and they've all got your antidote. I think you can stop now."

"That disease isn't over as long as one child is still bent over double, hacking for breath!" Rumplestiltskin sounded like he was having trouble breathing himself. "And I haven't even touched the Golden Leaf province yet." He'd only come back for more of the antidote, apparently.

"Gold, this is touching but a little ridiculous. You're in no condition to do any more missions of mercy. Belle's worried to death and you're just gonna disappear again?! Without saying anything?"

A shadow passed over his face. "Belle will understand."

"Yeah, later!" Emma protested, hoping she was reaching him, "Belle always understands. But that doesn't give you the right to treat her like this. She's terrified!"

His mouth tightened, as if to make up for the desperation warring in his eyes, "Do you know where I've been, Swan?" She didn't answer. She needed more time to think of more futile arguments, anyway. He continued, "I've been holding little boys and girls, _forcing_ this vile liquid down their throats so they can stop wretching and start breathing again! Somewhere out there, a child's going through the symptoms, sickening, dying even…and you want me to stay here and take a nap?"

How did he just turn this completely around? Emma swallowed. "You can't…you don't know…"

"Percentage wise it's a certainty!" Rumplestiltskin snapped, "Now could you please move?"

Emma hit on that. "Why don't you just apparate out or whatever?"

Something in his cheek twitched. Uncomfortable silence. "I can't. I've used up my magic."

"Well yeah, stretching yourself thinner than butter will do that," Emma said carefully. She waited until Rumplestiltskin was looking her in the eyes again. "Even if what you say is true, wherever these children are, you won't reach them in time. You've got to leave it to the local medics and God."

Long silence.

Rumplestilskin was not a loser. He wasn't even a good loser. Emma was aware of this as she watched him silently brood, searching for a way out of an argument he knew he'd already lost. He'd probably blow up in a moment about how she, Swan, of everyone, could not tell him what to do, how she, of everyone, knew nothing of magic, and how she should really be upstairs with Henry and not obstructing her father-in-law on his path of self-destruction.

But he was tired.

For a second, he bowed his head. Then, he took a gentle, limping step forward. "Fine. Let me go home…to Belle."

Emma felt weak with relief that this argument was going to die down peacefully; if Neal were here, he'd be taking pictures. But she couldn't help voicing her opinion, "nuh-uh, not in that condition. Stay here until Neal can take you home."

"Gods, Swan!"

There was the blow up. Emma stiffened.

"This cane is for an injury, not arthritis! I'm not some doddering old fool and I certainly don't need my _son_ to guide me to my own castle! I've given you my word to go home…isn't that enough? Would you like a little blood-binding?!" His nostrils flared as he made a threat he obviously didn't have the strength to hold up, so Emma just took his vitriol with stern courage. "Move _now_, if you'd be so kind! Or I swear, I will do _something_…"

"What's this?" Wonder of wonders, Neal came in suddenly, completely unperturbed by the argument and hiding his surprise at seeing his father once more with impressive skill, "You threatening my wife again?"

"No, Bae, I am _not_! What are you doing here?" Emma noticed with no little irritation that Rumplestiltskin's snapping was far less acidic when directed at his son.

"Uh, I live here." Neal lifted his arms out a moment before letting them drop. "Henry's finally past the worst of it, thanks to you. But you wouldn't know that since you dropped off into No Man's Land for the past twenty days."

"Eight," Rumplestiltskin corrected him, glaring.

"I didn't notice," Neal said easily, as if he was a special fairy immune to the magic of the Dark One's glare of death. "I think you did too good a job at pretending not to be part of this family."

Emma noticed that even while Neal was speaking, he gently grabbed Rumplestiltskin's elbow and began leading him towards the roaring fireplace against the wall and the long, red sofa that sat before it.

Rumplestiltskin followed his son's touch automatically, taking a few heavy, faltering steps before freezing, his breath hissing between his teeth as he sucked it in sharply. Next instant, he launched into a breathless question. Emma recognized it as a technique to cover up the fact that he was obviously in pain.

Luckily, Neal knew that too. He looked down at Rumplestiltskin's ankle with a worried frown. "You've been on that leg too long again."

"I'm fine," Rumplestiltskin bit out, forcing his body to straighten up.

Neal ignored him, almost carrying him to the couch as he hooked one arm under his elbow. "You always are," he groused.

"No, Bae…this is ridiculous!" Rumplestiltskin protested as they reached the sofa.

Neal stopped and gave his father a pleading look. "Common, Papa, just sit down a minute or two...please."

Papa. The famous magic word. However, Emma doubted it would have the same affect coming from _her_ lips. Surrendering with a sigh, Rumplestiltskin reluctantly, slowly lowered himself onto the soft pillows.

Emma crossed her arms and, wisely staying out of Rumplestiltskin's sight, moved to watch the two interact, fascinated.

The Dark One held his cane between his knees, almost drooping over it as his eyes stared at the fire and began to take on a dazed look. He tried to start up a coherent conversation, as if trying to prove that he was in full posession of his faculties. "Henry's fine…that's good. How are you and Emma holding up?"

Oh, so he called her 'Swan' to her face, 'Emma' to her back?

Neal looked like he was resisting the urge to glance at her and laugh. "Oh, we're good. We do something called eating and sleeping…works wonders for your energy levels."

"Hilarious." As they spoke, Rumplestiltskin leaned backwards, taking the pressure off his aching back. He began relaxing further and further onto the cushions until he was almost lying down. Neal watched him carefully, still bantering back and forth with his father.

Emma saw liveliness there, a skill, as if this was a game Neal had played often during his life.

Finally, with waves of heat billowing into him from the fire, sinking into his bones and soothing his body, Rumplestiltskin tilted sideways. A triumphant light glowed in Neal's eyes as he bent down and gently picked up his legs, moving them onto the cushions.

Rumplestiltskin's eyes widened and one hand clutched at the cushions as if to keep himself from falling off. The cane clattered to the floor. "Bae, stop!"

"Look," Neal sat down, effectively stopping the man from sliding his legs onto the floor again. "You can't lie down with your body at a 90 degree angle. That's just stupid. And…" Rumplestiltskin started to pull himself upright to be on eye level with his son. Neal gave him a firm, warning push to the chest, "you can't sit up cause I won't let you."

Exasperated, Rumplestiltskin fell back and gestured at his feet impatiently. "I can't just put my muddy boots on…"

"Seriously, Papa. I'm a king…" Emma gave him a look, "a prince. I can afford it."

As if praying for patience, Rumplestiltskin heaved a sigh, one hand travelling up to rub at his temples. "What did I ever do to deserve this?"

Neal hesitated a moment, looking at his feet, then at the fire, then at his father's hidden face. "You just disappeared."

A pause. Rumplestiltskin's hand dropped and he turned to look at his son. His face was creased, apologetic, his brown eyes soft and warm. "I'm sorry, Bae. There…there were children."

Bae shrugged, trying to smile. "I know," he was sad, not hurt, "it's what you do."

His eyes tender, Rumplestiltskin gently fisted Neal in the calf, just saying, _I'm here_ and _I love you_ and _thank you for understanding._ Silence again. Then, to Emma's surprise, Neal suddenly pressed a gentle hand to Rumplestiltskin's knee, the lame one. He began rubbing back and forth, slowly, massaging it.

Rumplestiltskin's entire body went rigid and his head shot up, "Bae! What are you…"

"You _know_ what I'm doing," Neal replied with that adorable half-smile, "relax."

And, to Emma's dumfounded shock, Rumplestiltskin did. He hesitated, holding his head up, watching the hand as it kept working at tense, torn muscles. His mouth was small and anxious, his eyes wide and brittle. But as Neal moved down to the ankle, kneading out the pain and stiffness brought on by days of walking, Rumplestiltskin's face softened with a sudden flood of gratitude and trust. "Does…does feel good, Bae," he muttered, finally allowing his head to collapse back into the pillows, finally allowing the warmth from the fire to do its wonders.

Slowly, his eyes drifted shut and his nervous, energetic face relaxed. He was asleep.

Emma smiled proudly, grabbing a fur blanket from the basket by the fireplace and tossing it at Neal. Sharing a look of triumph with her, he caught the heavy thing with both hands and than draped it over his father before resuming the gentle massage on the ankle a little while longer.

She should feel like she was in the same room as a sleeping dragon. But she didn't. She felt like she had just watched something precious and beautiful, a moment in time where a child warded off the pain and exhaustion of its father. It made something in her stomach glow warmly, especially since Neal so little resembled the young boy and Rumplestiltskin so little resembled the devoted father they seemed to have once been.

Nevertheless, she did keep her voice low as she sat in the wooden chair across from them. "Either you've done this before or you were in the entirely wrong profession when I met you."

Neal chuckled at those good memories. "What makes you think I didn't rob some sweet old ladies?"

Emma gave him the face he could never resist, the 'give-it-to-me-or-you're-making-dinner' face.

He shrugged. "I used to do it all the time, back before he became the Dark One. He used to come home late a lot…he had to work all day to earn enough for us to eat…more like for me to eat. I don't…" he glanced at his father's still, peaceful face, turned towards the fire's orange glow. He looked back at Emma, and there was pain in his eyes as he shook his head at her, silently asking her to understand, "you know, I barely remember him ever eating with me, at _all_. After so many years it gets blurry but…" he looked back at Rumplestiltskin, "I _should_ remember more than that!"

Emma swallowed before trying to helpfully move the conversation back to less painful matters, "so he worked late cause you guys were really poor."

Neal rubbed a hand over the lower half of his face, distressed. "His leg hurt. All the time. Sometimes it was over strained, other times it was…" he looked down at the ground and the contented glow drained from his face, "other things." _Like having his stick kicked from under him, snapped in his face, and then being beaten with the pieces._

Emma closed her eyes, feeling his pain, feeling compassion for the crippled, cowardly spinster who only wanted to love and care for his boy, yes, even for the annoying old magician who'd been so unreasonable a mere 30 minutes earlier, who'd spent a lifetime searching for the son he'd sacrificed so much for, who'd been absolutely _broken_ when he thought Neal was dead. Broken in ways no one but people as broken as Emma could see.

Neal took a deep breath and wrestled a smile back onto his face. "I'd…I'd trick him into lying down, then I'd rub his leg. Just a stupid kid, didn't know what the heck I was doing. Just wanted to help. At first it hurt him, but he pretended it was okay until I learned to do it right. Then," the smile bloomed and the contentment came back into his face, "I could put him to sleep like that," he snapped his fingers softly, "no matter how badly he wanted to stay up and spin."

Emma got up slowly and went to stand beside him. She put her hand on his shoulders. "He worked hard for you, didn't he?"

"Oh yeah," Neal growled, eyes moist, "I was his boy, his Baelfire," he said the name in warm, Scottish tones. One hand just rested fondly on Rumplestiltskin's leg for a moment, watching the even rise and fall of his father's chest. "He's always been like that. He works like anything for the people he loves, even if he drives them nuts by going about it in the completely wrong way."

Emma smiled, proud of her husband and proud of her father-in-law. She was glad they were together; glad they'd all made it to their happy endings, no matter what other baggage they brought to the table. They were a family, even if they _were_ a human storm of interrelated, vastly emotional, intensely complex people who couldn't stop arguing and fighting if they were sealed in a cave without oxygen and left to die.

She leaned down and rubbed Neal's shoulders, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Leg rub, huh?"

Neal looked at her curiously.

"You should share that with Belle." Emma suggested mischievously.

Neal snorted with laughter, a little louder than he meant to. "Yeah sure, and put him under her thumb even more than he already is?"

"And that's a bad thing…?"

Neal grinned, rolling his head back as he slowly stood up. "No, guess not." He grabbed Emma's hand in his and began moving towards the stairs. "Common. Don't wanna embarrass him when he finally wakes up. I hope he sleeps for a year."

"He needs it."

Neal let go of her hand and blew out the candles on the table. "He really likes you, you know that?"

"Go see a doctor," was Emma's reply. Neal snorted.

Emma walked slowly to the landing. She paused to stare up through the tall windows that framed the night sky, dark blue and awash with white stars, glowing like snowy fire. As Neal came up behind her, she leaned into him trustingly. "You tired too?"

"Yeah." Neal breathed. He nuzzled her ear before starting up the steps, "Just lemme check on Henry. Then, I'll be in."

Suddenly remembering something, Emma rolled her eyes and shoved him with her shoulder, "just don't take all the blanket this time. It's _freezing_ in these Enchanted Woods."

"If you don't tell me to 'waken up' tomorrow morning. I might be a late sleeper but I don't need to be treated like a thirteen-year-old again."

Emma grinned. "It worked, didn't it? I can always go back to the broom and bucket."

Neal rolled his eyes heavenwards, trying not to laugh as he swung an arm around her shoulders and they nearly tripped like a pair of drunkards. "Fine, fine. 'Waken up' it is."

FINIS


End file.
